


Winston's Story

by AVegetarianCannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dogs, Fluff, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Winston loves Hannigram, a dog's point of view, more fluff than a shedding dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winston just wants Will to be happy, and Hannibal is what makes him happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winston's Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginarylock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarylock/gifts).



For @imaginarylock, who requested Hannibal diagnosing Will’s dogs and Winston possibly trying to make Hannigram happen :)

* * *

My name is Winston, and I’m a dog.

You might wonder how a dog can write a story. In truth, this is all happening in your imagination. But how it’s happening in your imagination is exactly how it happened in real life. I promise. I’m a dog, and we keep our promises.

My name wasn’t always Winston, of course. I was one of a litter of seven, born under the porch of an abandoned house. Nice people found us, and I was taken in by a family along with one of my sisters. I was named Buck then, and my sister was called Perry. I went exploring out of the yard one day and couldn’t find my way back. I approached two boys, looking for help, but they threw rocks at me. When they chased me, I ran. I had never run from people before.

I was lost for a long time, and then another family took me in. They kept me tied up to a tree, even in the rain, and I had nowhere to hide. The people didn’t give me a name, but fed me most days, and didn’t throw rocks at me. They never petted me, though. They said I was “too dirty.” Well, that’s what happens when you leave a dog outside all the time.

One day, the people untied my rope from the tree, but left it around my neck. I thought they were finally letting me into the house, like my other family had. But they left. They drove away one morning and never came back. There was no more food, no more water. Nobody to talk to me even if it was only to say I was dirty. I hoped Perry was doing better than I was, at least.

When I got hungry enough, I decided to leave. Maybe I would find my way back to Perry, or maybe I wouldn’t. I just knew I couldn’t wait forever at the end of that untied rope, waiting to see if someone would pick it up again.

I was running along the road one night, my nose telling me that there was a dead squirrel somewhere up ahead, when a man pulled over in his car and called to me. I kept running. What if he wanted to throw rocks at me? What if he wanted to tie me up? I would rather take my chances with the dead squirrel.

But the man came back with fresh meat--–meat that hadn’t been run over a dozen times and left more fit for rolling around on than making a meal of. It was delicious. I let him take me to his home.

*****************

His name was Will, and he had a lot of other dogs. He kept me in a crate that first night, and gave me a new name. He washed me so that I wouldn’t be “too dirty,” and fed me fish stew, and took me to a doctor to make sure I was healthy. The other dogs were happy, but Will himself was lonesome. I could tell, because he looked the way I felt when I was tied to that tree. Unseen. Unknown. Wanting.

One day, a man came over because Will had left a book at his office. Will called him Dr. Lecter, even though his name was Hannibal.

“You didn’t need to go out of your way,” Will said. “I could have picked it up the next time I was there.”

“It’s no trouble,” Hannibal said. “I wanted a drive anyway.”

I watched them. They didn’t know I was watching. I could smell them, too, and they didn’t know it. Looking at each other made them happy. Being close to each other made them warmer. Their scents changed just a little. Will wasn’t lonesome.

But then Hannibal left, and Will went back to looking like a dog under a tree. He drank whiskey and had nightmares. I began to make plans. Hannibal was a doctor, and I knew from recent experience just what doctors do. All I had to do was think of a way to get him to come back. It took me a few days, but then I knew what I had to do.

I bit Will’s arm.

*****************

As planned, Hannibal came back and did as doctors do.

“The wounds aren’t deep,” he said, cleaning Will’s arm with some kind of medicine. “I think you’ll live.”

“I’m sorry to call you all the way out here,” Will said. “I guess I could have done this myself, as minor as it is.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal said. “Even the smallest animal bite should be carefully examined. Lucky you know a doctor who’s happy to make house calls.”

They smiled at each other. They threw off warmth at each other that only I and the other dogs could sense. I relaxed. It had been risky to bite him, I know. I was fairly sure he wouldn’t get rid of me, but what if he’d been unhappy with me? What if he’d decided he couldn’t trust me? Luckily, all that was forgotten the instant the two of them were together.

“Like humans, dogs have a psychology,” Hannibal said. “Winston is new to your house. He could be dealing with past trauma. Perhaps I could spend some time with him and the others.”

“Are you offering to psychoanalyze my dogs?” Will asked.

“Do you object?” Hannibal asked.

“Not at all,” Will said with a laugh. “Better them than me!”

I loved his laugh. It made my tail wag.

***************

Hannibal diagnosed me with “separation anxiety,” because I had bitten Will’s arm when he was reaching for his car keys. I hadn’t wanted him to leave, Hannibal said, and so I had reacted badly. It had been a coincidence, to tell you the truth, but I let them think what they wanted.

***************

Sometimes when Will was gone for a while, Hannibal would come over to feed us and take us for walks. He said it was better for my anxiety not to have me boarded. He brought us sausage that I didn’t really like the taste of that much, but the other dogs went crazy for it. I ate my share so I wouldn’t hurt his feelings. People are like dogs, and their feelings get hurt if you don’t give them positive reinforcement.

The problem was that he kept leaving. I needed to find a way to make him stay, and I didn’t want to take a chance biting him. He wasn’t a dog person like Will (I nosed him all over to see if I could smell any pets at all) so he might not be as quick to forgive me. Besides, as a doctor, he would probably just treat his own injuries and be on his way. I had to think of something more drastic. I had to involve Buster.

People expect a certain level of bad behavior from terriers, I’ve learned, and Buster honestly didn’t care if anybody forgave him or not. He only cared that our Will was happy, so it was easy to convince him to do what needed doing. When Hannibal tried to leave for the day, Buster darted between his feet and tripped him.

Hannibal’s fall took place in stages. First he hopped on one foot, trying to avoid stepping on Buster. Then he tripped a second time on one of Will’s many chairs. Finally, with momentum working against him, he crashed to the floor. When he tried to get up again, he couldn’t put weight on his right ankle. I wagged my tail and hoped it looked like a wag of sympathy and not of triumph.

***************

When Will came home that night, Hannibal was still there. He’d taken to Will’s bed and fallen asleep with his leg propped up on pillows. To make it a really good show, Buster had curled up on the bed next to him, looking as pitiful as he could.

Will was very tender with Hannibal, and fetched him ice and a glass of wine. He sat on the foot of the bed and held the ice to Hannibal’s ankle.

“I’m so, so sorry about this,” Will said. He looked upset, but he smelled happy. “Buster does have a way of getting underfoot. I should have warned you. This is all my fault.”

“Will, please don’t worry,” Hannibal said. “It’s given me a chance to welcome you home, after all.”

The two of them were quiet for a while, or at least they thought they were. I could hear their hearts beating a little faster, their breaths becoming ever so slightly rough. I could hear Will fidgeting with the ice to give his hand something to do.

“You should stay here tonight,” he said suddenly. “Unless you have important business elsewhere.”

“Nothing more important than this,” Hannibal said.

They smiled at each other, then looked away. Did they know how ridiculous they were? Was it because human senses are so weak that they couldn’t detect how perfect they were for each other? All of us dogs could pick up on it, and we would take turns biting them or tripping them until they knew it, too. If Will brought home more dogs, I would enlist them, too. I promised myself I would see him happy and lonesome no more.

I’m a dog, and we keep our promises.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> This was for @imaginarylock, who won one of my tumblr fic give-aways and asked for Season 1-era, with Hannibal diagnosing Will's dogs and Winston possibly trying to make Hannigram happen.


End file.
